


Seven's Crossdressing Adventures

by Sidoh



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Boot Worship, Come Eating, Crossdressing, Crossdressing!Saeran, Crossdressing!Seven, Crossdressing!Yoosung, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dom!Seven, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Gloves, Halloween, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intercrural Sex, Leather, Leg Humping, Lingerie, M/M, Medical Kink, Phone Sex, Prostitution, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Sub!Jumin, Verbal Humiliation, Virgin Shaming, Voyeurism, corsets, mild bondage, non-con, small penis humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidoh/pseuds/Sidoh
Summary: A collection of stand-alone fics about Seven getting up to naughty things in women's clothes. Details per chapter inside.1. Walk All Over You (Seven/Jumin) 2. The Slut Rule (Seven/Yoosung) 3. Tease (Seven/Zen) 4. Examination (Seven/Yoosung) 5. Undercover (Seven/Yoosung) 6. Free (Seven/Saeran)





	1. Walk All Over You [Seven/Jumin]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven is a sadist in more than one way.  
>  **Content:** Dom!Seven, Sub!Jumin, (verbal) humiliation, small penis humiliation, virgin shaming, come eating, leg humping, intercrural sex, mild bondage, leather, boot worship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Have some incredibly self-indulgent porn.
> 
> Don't take the title too literally; there is (unfortunately) no trampling. I considered calling this 'These Boots Were Made For Crushing Your Ego' because I'm a silly human being but I thought that was a bit much so I took a different phrase from the song.
> 
> Also, please check out [this awesome art](https://jun-tea.tumblr.com/post/159681735681/based-on-this-fic-by-sidohfic) that jun-tea drew based on this fic!

Seven twirls a long strand of red hair around his finger and smiles smugly at Jumin when he notices that he’s already half-hard underneath his suit. He has found that it’s surprisingly easy to get the usually so composed business man to eat out of the palm of his hand, now that he knows which buttons to push.

He is currently sitting on top of Jumin’s desk in a simple black dress and a pair of shiny leather boots that only leave the top of his thighs exposed. The dress is so short that whenever Seven spreads his legs as much as an inch, Jumin is treated to the sight of the red, lacy panties he’s wearing underneath. Being dressed like this never fails to send a rush of power through Seven, and not in the last place because it proves incredibly helpful when it comes to getting men to do what he wants. Especially men like Jumin, judging by the kind of porn in his browser history. 

“I hacked into your computer again,” Seven informs Jumin casually, placing his high-heeled feet in Jumin’s lap. Jumin shifts in his desk chair and nervously straightens his tie. “You saved that picture of me dressed as a maid. I’m touched. Did you jerk off to it?”

“I would appreciate it if you stopped invading my privacy.” Even now, Jumin can’t hide his arousal, his pupils large as he looks up at Seven. 

“You should improve your safety measures. So, you’re not denying it?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Jumin says, his voice not nearly as steady as usual. 

“Liar.” Seven presses the tip of his boot into Jumin’s crotch. “Don’t you know that it’s bad manners to wank over a lady without asking her for permission?” 

Jumin snorts and opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it again when Seven threateningly runs a pointy heel over the bulge in his trousers. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

A few moments pass before Jumin lets out a shaky breath and nods. The fact that Jumin is such a control freak and that he’s so new to submitting only makes things more interesting. Seven relishes in the conflict that shows in his eyes before he obeys an order, and it fuels his sadistic streak even more. 

Just to test him, Seven raises his foot up to Jumin’s face, pressing the tip of his boot against his mouth. Jumin surprises him by immediately kissing the smooth leather and closing his eyes as he licks a slow trail from Seven’s toes to the base of his ankle. Sometimes submission seems to come shockingly naturally to him, although Seven can’t ignore the possibility that he just has a thing for leather or boots. 

“That’s enough. Strip.”

Jumin doesn’t make a show out of getting undressed, but he doesn’t rush either. He carefully folds each item of clothing he takes off and puts them on the desk beside Seven until he’s completely naked. 

Seven guides Jumin into a position where he’s standing in front of him with his hands behind his back, facing the other way. Using Jumin’s own tie, Seven binds Jumin’s wrists together tightly while enjoying the view of his broad back. Jumin isn’t the type to show off constantly like Zen, but that only makes Seven appreciate his toned body even more. “Turn around.” Jumin obliges, and Seven observes his naked form. 

“So, not only are you a pervert, but you also have a sad little dick.” Seven carefully watches Jumin for a reaction, and he is not disappointed. Jumin’s cheeks flush beautifully and his cock twitches. 

Seven grins. This is what he enjoys most about Jumin. 

Seven can’t deny that he started dreaming about dominating Yoosung long before he ever considered that Jumin might be interested. The boy is such an obvious masochist that it’s astonishing he doesn’t seem to have figured it out yet. But physical pain is one thing, and Yoosung wouldn’t be able to handle the humiliation Seven loves to dish out. It would be like kicking a small puppy. 

Jumin, on the other hand, not only knows how to handle humiliation—he craves it. 

“Pathetic.” Seven nudges Jumin’s dick with the sole of his boot so that there’s no question as to what he is referring to. “You’re hard already and I haven’t even touched you.” He presses Jumin’s erection up against his stomach, kneading the shaft with his boot until Jumin lets out a whimper and a drop of pre-come emerges from the slit.

Seven throws his head back and laughs. “Are you that desperate to be touched? At this rate, I could kick you in the nuts and you’d come.” He would never actually do something that drastic unless it was agreed upon in advance, and he’s sure Jumin knows that, too. Yet, he enjoys the uncertainty in Jumin’s eyes as he startles ever so slightly at the words.

Seven stops rubbing Jumin’s cock and considers its aroused state. “Do you want to come today?”

“Yes,” Jumin says. A sharp intake of breath follows immediately as Seven lightly slaps his dick.

“What was that?”

Jumin clears his throat. “Please.”

Seven slides off the desk and stands up. Jumin holds his gaze for a moment before dropping his own. “Alright, then. Hump my leg.”

“What?”

Seven smirks at his obvious dilemma. Jumin’s dick twitches in desperation, but it seems like his pride won’t allow him to immediately obey the simple order without question. 

“You want to come, don’t you?” Seven offers one leather-clad leg, pushing it between Jumin’s thighs. “Either you get down on your knees and hump my leg, or you get nothing. Your choice.”

Jumin visibly swallows. As Seven crosses his arms over his chest and waits, it appears to dawn on him that those are really his only two options. His knees hit the floor with a thud, and he shuffles forward until his knees are on either side of Seven’s foot. He looks up at Seven with an uncertain look in his eyes. 

“Go ahead,” Seven encourages him. “Don’t be shy now. I bet you’re not shy when get off on my pictures either.”

It takes a few moments for Jumin to find a rhythm, awkwardly rubbing his cock against Seven’s boot until he’s grinding against it properly. Watching all of Jumin’s dignity and composure crumble as he humps his leg like a horny dog sends a thrill through Seven’s body, and he cups his hardening dick through the lacy material of his panties. 

“You’re leaking,” Seven points out when the urgency of Jumin’s movements increases. A drop of sweat slides down Jumin’s forehead and onto his flushed cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut as if he doesn’t want to be doing this and his hips are moving by themselves. “You’re leaking pre-come all over my boot. Has it really been that long, or are you a virgin?”

The way Jumin’s body freezes for just a fraction of a second at the latter suggestion betrays him. Seven grins. “I thought so. No wonder you’re so desperate. What are you, twenty-seven?” 

Jumin lets out a whine when Seven pulls his leg out from between Jumin’s thighs. “No...I’m so…” He doesn’t appear to be very good at talking in his current state, his voice slurring with arousal. From the way he stumbles forward and follows Seven’s leg, Seven assumes that Jumin is trying to tell him how close he is to coming and how cruel it is for Seven to deprive him of friction now. 

“You’re not very good at begging, are you?” Seven looks down, amused. Jumin is a sweaty, desperate mess on the floor, and apparently he’s so far past the point of holding onto his dignity that he doesn’t have a problem looking Seven in the eye now. “Ask nicely.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me…” Jumin takes a deep breath. “Please let me hump your leg more.”

Seven pretends to consider the matter for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. Because you’re a virgin and you’ve never experienced what it’s like to stick your sad little cock in something…” Jumin’s eyes widen with hope and disbelief. “...I’ll let you fuck my thighs.” 

Seven puts his feet together, leaving only the slightest gap between his legs. He laughs as he watches Jumin’s hope visibly deflate. “What, you thought I was going to let you fuck me? You’re lucky I’m letting you touch me at all.”

Jumin doesn’t dwell on his disappointment for too long, his cock still so hard it looks almost painful. He manages to scramble to his feet and looks at Seven expectantly. Seven takes his sweet time pulling up his dress to reveal more of his thighs and finding a comfortable position, leaning back against the desk. He spits into his hand and unceremoniously spreads his saliva on Jumin’s cock. “Go on.”

Seven’s boots cause him to stand slightly taller than Jumin, so Jumin barely needs to sink through his knees in order to slide his erection in between Seven’s thighs. He frantically fucks the empty space between Seven’s legs, his face close enough to Seven’s now for Seven to hear every little gasp that leaves his mouth. It only takes about a minute for Jumin to still, his lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to suppress a loud moan that reaches Seven’s ears anyway. 

“Well, that was fast. Maybe it’s for the best if you stay a virgin.” Seven looks down. “You made a mess everywhere.” It’s not an exaggeration. His thighs are sticky with Jumin’s come, and as Jumin pulls his cock from between Seven’s thighs, a few drops land on the floor as well. His boot is still smeared with trails of pre-come. “You’re going to clean that up with your mouth.”

Now that the orgasmic high is gone, Jumin seems to be capable of feeling shame again. “Really?” He looks at Seven expectantly, as if he’s about to tell him it’s a joke.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” 

Thankfully, Jumin realises that the question doesn’t require a response and sinks down to his knees to lick Seven’s thighs clean. Tongue working fast and efficiently, he pauses for just a moment before licking a drop of come off Seven’s crotch. Surprise causes Seven to lose control of his body for a second and startle, not having realised that Jumin managed to come on his underwear as well. 

When Jumin can’t seem to wriggle his tongue into the holes of the lace well enough to clean up all of his come, his takes the fabric between his lips and sucks it out instead. His mouth is so tempting as it ghosts over Seven’s cock that he’s on the verge of pulling down his panties and fucking Jumin’s mouth, but he manages to control himself. Even though his erection is obvious, he isn’t about to lose control and show Jumin that he’s just as turned on by all this. 

Jumin is much slower when it comes to cleaning Seven’s boots, and Seven concludes that he was right about his little fetish. He seems to be enjoying himself so much that Seven wonders how long he would have continued if Seven didn’t tell him to stop in the end. He mentally stores the image of a naked Jumin on his knees lapping away at his boots for when he gets to deal with his own arousal later. 

“You did well,” Seven tells Jumin after he unties his wrists and tells him to get dressed. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” Jumin mutters, buttoning up his shirt. “I trust that this will stay between the two of us, Luciel?”

“Jumin, this is Secret Agent Seven Zero Seven you’re talking to. I’m a pro at keeping secrets. I won’t even tell anyone about your browser history.” Seven’s wink is met with a glare. “Now behave, and don’t look at your filthy porn during work hours again or I’ll have to spank you.”

Before Jumin realises that Seven is joking, the damage has already been done. Seven’s mouth slowly curls into a wicked grin at the hopeful look in Jumin’s eyes. “Oh, the two of us are going to have a lot of fun together. Have I ever told you about my collection of whips?”

Jumin gulps.


	2. The Slut Rule [Seven/Yoosung]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven teaches Yoosung how to do Halloween.  
>  **Content** : Yoosung in a skirt, some dry-humping, bad movie references and general silliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a Halloween fic in February. This was meant to be all smut but apparently I can't write these two without most of it becoming about Seven trolling Yoosung.

“Yoosung, come help me!” 

Yoosung types a quick goodbye and closes the messenger app on his phone. It’s not as if he was interested in seeing multiple selfies of Zen’s Halloween costume anyway. He looks like he walked straight out of a cheesy romance novel and makes such an attractive vampire that Yoosung can’t help but wonder why he even bothered to make a costume. He hates Halloween. 

Yoosung isn’t sure what he expected Seven’s costume to be. He sort of figured it would be something that has nothing to do with Halloween, because Seven never sticks to conventions much. Yoosung wouldn’t have put it past him to dress up like a bag of Honey Buddha chips. But of all the things Yoosung could have come up with, he didn’t expect to find his boyfriend wearing _this_.

Of course, taking all the pictures of Seven in women’s clothes into consideration, he should have known. “What are you supposed to be?” Yoosung blurts out, staring at the short black dress. It has long sleeves and jagged edges, and Seven is in the process of putting on a corset over it. 

“I’m a witch!” Seven grabs a pointy black hat and puts it on with a grin. Yoosung’s eyes scan Seven’s body and he realises that he is wearing tights. Cobweb-patterned tights, but still. Tights nonetheless. 

Yoosung loves Halloween. 

Seven turns around, showing Yoosung the loosely laced back of the corset. He pulls the long hair of his dark purple wig out of the way. “Can you make it tighter?”

Yoosung blinks. “I have no idea how to do that,” he protests. 

“Come on Yoosung, help out a damsel in distress! You know how shoelaces work, don’t you? It’s the same thing.”

Yoosung seriously doubts that, but he gets to work anyway, improvising as he goes. It’s almost a relief to not be face to face with Seven, because he’s not sure he would be able to stop himself from staring. This is the first time he’s seen him wearing anything like this in person. Even though it’s just a stupid Halloween costume and Yoosung shouldn’t be this affected by it, he has to fight his body to keep it from responding to the sight. 

“Isn’t this too tight?” Yoosung desperately needs this activity to end. The curve of Seven's laced up back and his butt under the dress is not something that should ever make him hard. 

“Nah. I’m used to it. So what are you going as, cutie Yoosung?” Seven asks, not giving Yoosung time to question why he’s used to wearing corsets and more importantly, why Yoosung is never around to see this. 

Yoosung ties the laces into a somewhat clumsy bow. “I just cut up some old clothes and put ketchup on them. So I’m a zombie, I guess.” 

Seven turns around, looking at Yoosung as if he just announced that the production of PhD Pepper has been discontinued. “What?” he gasps, scandalised. “That is _not_ how you do Halloween, Yoosung.”

“It’s...not?” 

Seven struts over to his wardrobe. “Not on my watch. But don’t worry, Defender of Justice Seven Zero Seven will arrange a suitable costume for you.” He dramatically pushes the sliding door to the side, and Yoosung can only stare at the contents of his wardrobe. About two shelves are reserved for basic jeans, T-shirts and hoodies, and a slightly bigger section next to that contains regular women’s clothes. The rest is filled to the brim with costumes. 

Seven pulls out the maid’s outfit that Yoosung remembers seeing in a picture, and holds it up in front of Yoosung. After a moment, he shakes his head and throws the garment over his shoulder. 

“Seven…” Yoosung starts hesitantly as Seven discards a pirate-style dress. “Do you only have women’s costumes?”

Seven pauses and considers the question, as if this has never occurred to him before. “Yup,” he concludes, and continues to search through his collection. Yoosung would wonder why Seven has enough costumes to celebrate Halloween every month for the next ten years, but he’s learned that trying to find logic in Seven’s behaviour usually just gives him a headache. He lets himself fall back onto the bed and sighs. From this angle, he can almost see up Seven’s dress. 

“Why are all the skirts so short?”

“Because Halloween is the one time a year when you can dress up like a slut and no one can say anything about it,” Seven replies matter-of-factly. "Has no one ever told you about the slut rule?"

Yoosung narrows his eyes. “Are you quoting some movie about teenage girls?”

“No.” Seven considers a nurse costume for a moment before tossing it aside. “It’s a Tolstoy quote.”

“Tol...Who?”

Seven gestures at a book on his bedside table. “It’s right there, on page 137.”

Yoosung grabs the book and frowns as he flips through it. “It’s all in Russian.”

“Yeah, well.” Seven pulls out a latex bodysuit which Yoosung suspects is part of a Catwoman costume. He looks back and forth between Yoosung and the costume a couple of times before putting it back on the hanger. “It’s one of Tolstoy’s most famous works. It’s about a girl called Anna Karenina who always dresses up like a slut for Halloween. It’s an ancient Russian tradition.”

Yoosung looks up, confused. “I thought Halloween was an American thing.”

“That’s what they want you to think. Cold War and all that. It's been a debate for centuries. Aha!” 

Yoosung is hit in the face by an item of clothing that, upon further inspection, turns out to be a pleated skirt with a checkered pattern. “What is this?” His question is answered when Seven drops a white button-up shirt, a tie, and a pair of knee-high white socks onto the bed. “Wait, no. You’re not making me dress like a schoolgirl.”

“Why not?” Seven completes the pile with a pair of black flats. “I don’t know if these are your size, but we can always—”

“Seven! If you’re going to make me cross-dress for Halloween, I want something…” Yoosung stares at the contents of Seven’s closet and realises that most options are a lot worse. “I don’t know. Something people won’t recognise me in.”

“We’ll put a wig on you!” Seven says cheerfully. “You can pick the colour.”

Yoosung sighs and grabs the clothes before Seven decides to put him in a latex bikini instead. “Fine, but I’m changing in the bathroom and I’m not wearing it if it looks ridiculous.”

It takes three minutes for Yoosung to come to the conclusion that he does, indeed, look ridiculous. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment before making his way back to the bedroom, frantically pulling at the hem of the shirt. “Seven! It shows my belly! How short is this on _you_?” he yelps, referring both to the offending shirt and the skirt, which doesn’t quite reach halfway down his thighs. 

Seven turns around, closing the tube of lipstick he’s holding in his hands. His mouth curls into a smile, which only looks more mischievous because of the dark purple lipstick. His eyes are almost predatory as his gaze slowly moves up and down Yoosung’s body. “Yoosung?”

“Yeah?”

“Lie down on the bed. I will help you button up your shirt properly.”

Yoosung should have learned by now that whenever he’s mildly suspicious of Seven, he probably has reason to be _very_ suspicious. Yet, he finds himself obediently lying down on the bed, only to let out a _meep_ sound when Seven is suddenly on top of him a moment later. 

Seven makes use of Yoosung’s already open mouth by kissing him deeply, immediately slipping his tongue inside. Somewhere at the back of his mind Yoosung registers that Seven’s lips taste different, and figures that it must be the dark lipstick that they’re probably smudging all over their mouths. 

“We’re going to be late for the party,” Yoosung whines into Seven’s mouth. “And I still have to change into something else.”

“Well, you’re right. You definitely can’t go like this,” Seven chuckles. He grinds down against Yoosung’s cock, which is causing his skirt to stand up in an obscene tent shape. Yoosung’s face turns scarlet, but Seven doesn’t give him much time to be embarrassed. Capturing Yoosung’s lips again, he starts to move his hips in slow rolling motions. He’s just as hard, Yoosung realises as their erections rub together, separated by the material of their skirts. Desperate for more, Yoosung bunches up the skirt around his waist. 

“So naughty,” Seven whispers into his ear. “No panties?” 

“I was going to...I didn’t have any.” Yoosung breathes. “Why, are you…” 

Seven sits up, straddling Yoosung’s thighs. Yoosung wants to complain at first, but when Seven slowly pulls up his dress to reveal the black panties he’s wearing underneath, it’s more than worth the loss of friction. Yoosung involuntarily reaches out to touch the bulge underneath the frilly material, but Seven gently slaps his hand away and lowers himself onto him again. 

Yoosung is so close, and the feeling of Seven’s lace-covered cock rubbing against his own bare erection only makes things worse. He digs his fingers into Seven’s back, gasping when he comes all over Seven’s stomach and his checkered skirt. Seven lets out a sound that vaguely sounds like _fuck_ and climaxes just moments later. 

“Oh god,” Yoosung groans once they catch their breath, looking at the state of his skirt. “I really can’t wear this now.”

“Don’t think that this means I’ll let you walk around like an extra in a bad B-movie,” Seven warns him, carefully stepping out of his ruined underwear. 

Yoosung sighs. “What do I get if I wear one of your costumes?”

Seven straightens his wig and puts his hat back on. “An exclusive ride on my broomstick.”

Yoosung buries his head in a pillow and makes a mental note to auction off his boyfriend at the next charity event.


	3. Tease [Seven/Zen]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the maid incident, Zen becomes a victim of Seven's merciless teasing.  
>  **Content** : Naughty pictures, phone sex, dirty talk, denial/maybe internalised homophobia (it's a light-hearted fic though).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during the first few days of deep story mode, but it doesn't really attempt to follow canon after the first bit. I have no idea how this happened or how this got so much longer than I expected. It's another silly one, so after this I'd really like to write something kinkier for this 'series'. 
> 
> By the way, I have loads of ideas, but if anyone has any requests for pairings/kinks/scenarios they'd like to see, just let me know and I'll try my best.

It’s all Jumin Han’s fault. 

It’s hardly a surprise. Zen is starting to become increasingly convinced that Jumin is some kind of alien from a corporate trust fund planet who has been sent down to earth with the sole mission of making his life miserable. 

Of course, one could argue that it was Seven’s fault for posting the picture in the first place. Or even Zen’s own fault for failing to look at said picture properly before declaring his attraction to Mary Vanderwood for the rest of the RFA to see. But, as far as Zen is concerned, it’s much more convenient and endlessly more satisfying to blame Jumin for every single bit of misery in his life. 

Seven has been astonishingly mature about the whole thing, not even commenting on Zen’s embarrassing mistake when he showed up in the chatroom after the incident. Seven never misses an opportunity to torment anyone, so Zen isn’t quite sure why he’s letting the whole thing go so easily. It takes three days for Zen to allow himself to believe that the whole thing has really just quietly blown over. 

Of course, that’s when that jerk decides to ruin everything. 

The thing is, Zen was doing so well at trying to forget about the picture. Because Zen does not have a thing for maids, and he definitely does not have a thing for ridiculous hackers dressed up as maids. He does not dream about stockings and aprons and he never images what’s under...

No. He would never. Because Zen is a perfectly heterosexual man with perfectly innocent tastes. 

But when he’s confronted with the picture again, courtesy of Jumin fucking Han, his resolve cracks and somehow the offending image ends up saved on his computer.

It irks Zen, for some reason. He finds himself unreasonably annoyed at the fact that a man is able to look like that. Zen has been in the entertainment industry for long enough to know what makeup can do, but some kind of black magic has to be at play here. Even looking at the picture now, Zen rationally knows it’s Seven, but somehow his mind refuses to fully process this information. He keeps staring at his phone, almost compulsively analysing the picture and trying to reconstruct the lines of Seven’s facial features underneath the makeup in an attempt to convince his body that its response is all just one big misunderstanding. 

His phone starts to buzz as soon as he puts it down in his lap for a moment so that he can light a cigarette. He’s less than enthusiastic when it turns out to be a text from Seven.

 _If you ever get sick of looking at that picture, I can send you another one. All you have to do is ask ;)_

Zen whips his head around to check if any cameras have been planted in his apartment. He knows that it's not exactly likely, but on the other hand, there isn’t much he’d put past Seven.

_Are you watching me?!_

The moment Zen presses _send_ , he knows he made a mistake. 

_OMG you really were looking at my picture? lolololol_

Zen groans and takes a drag of his cigarette, wondering how many it would take to go into a nicotine-induced coma for a while. 

His phone buzzes again.

It’s a picture. Seven looks mostly the same as in the original one—Zen assumes it was taken on the same day—but instead of smiling sweetly, he’s winking suggestively at the camera over his shoulder. The skirt seems to have ridden up just slightly, exposing more of his long, slender...

No! Seven doesn’t have gorgeous, smooth legs that go on for miles. He has gross hairy man legs that Zen isn’t interested in in the slightest. 

Although...Zen squints at his phone screen. 

_Did you shave your legs?!_

Zen can practically hear the smug grin in Seven’s reply. 

_Maybe...wow, you must really be paying close attention to my pictures!!!_

Zen throws his phone aside and heads for the fridge. This is nothing a cold beer can’t solve. He’ll just ignore his phone for a few days. 

That, however, turns out to be quite the challenge. Zen has just landed a new role, and the director has the frustrating tendency to change the rehearsal schedule nearly every day. He can’t get away with just turning off his phone for a while, and judging from the way Seven keeps texting him precisely twice a day, he seems to be fully aware of this. 

When Zen finally decides to grab his phone and tell Seven to leave him alone, his timing couldn’t have been more awful.

The latest picture shows Seven covering his mouth with one hand, making the coy expression that reminds Zen of pin-up models. His other hand is placed just below his hip, hitching up his skirt on one side to expose his thigh and show a glimpse of his white panties.

If white was ever supposed to represent innocence and purity, Seven has single-handedly thrown that out of the window. There’s nothing innocent about this picture. 

Zen wipes his forehead, trying to remember when he turned on his heater. His fingers furiously type a message. 

_Stop!!! I’m going to have to wash my poor eyes with bleach!_

The reply comes instantly. 

_lololol that doesn’t sound healthy. You don’t like my pictures? :(_

Zen decides that it’s probably best to not answer that question, and blocks Seven’s number. 

Pleased with his solution, he gets up to pour himself a beer or two. However, in the process of doing so, he notices something worrying. Alarming, even. 

“I know it’s confusing,” he tells the erection that is currently forming a tent in his trousers. “I’m a little confused, too. But that is _not_ a woman, okay? It’s just Seven. Behave.”

To make matters worse, it takes Seven all of thirty seconds to hack into Zen’s phone and unblock his own number. 

_Why u block me? You don’t want to see the rest, zenny?_

The text is followed by a picture of Seven’s female alter ego pouting sadly at the camera. 

Zen is starting to suspect that something is broken in his head. Otherwise, he would be able to stop himself from staring at Seven’s perfect red lips and instead recognise how ridiculous the picture actually is. 

He throws the phone into a drawer and slams it shut. It'll be fine. This is nothing a couple of glasses of vodka can’t solve. 

Zen enjoys three blissfully peaceful days without his phone. He tells everyone at work that it’s getting repaired and that they should reach him by email in case of emergency. Of course, he’s aware that Seven could do the same. But when Seven doesn’t attempt to contact him in any other way than through text messages, Zen slowly starts to let himself believe that he’s finally given up. After all, there’s only so much teasing one person can do before they get bored of it. Maybe he’s decided to go back to bothering Yoosung instead, or maybe he’s too busy interrogating Jumin about his sexual preferences. Zen doesn’t care, as long as it means he can finally jerk off in peace without imagining that Seven is mocking him somewhere out there, knowing that he’s finally gotten to him. 

When Zen finally pulls his phone out of the drawer and sees that he hasn’t received any messages or pictures from Seven in twenty-four hours, he’s convinced that he’s right and Seven has given up. He has just concluded that he can safely go back to living his life and forget about the whole thing when a mysterious envelope lands on his doormat. 

Zen opens it without a second thought. He’s received quite a few suspicious letters in his life, but all of those have been fan mail, which doesn’t get delivered directly to his apartment. The envelope contains a single sheet of paper, and even before Zen finishes folding it open completely, he spots a familiar shade of red.

He looks at the picture just long enough to confirm his suspicions before crumpling it up into a ball and tossing it into a random corner of his living room. He closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh. No matter how tightly he squeezes them shut, he can’t unsee the image. The maid’s costume has been abandoned; it’s just Seven lying on his stomach in white panties similar to the ones he showed off before. His legs are bent at a 90-degree angle, his feet sticking up into the air to show off his stockings, and his head is resting on his hands as he naughtily winks at the camera. The picture is signed by Mary Vanderwood, and a message is written below the signature: _For Zenny, my biggest fan <3_

Well, at least between Zen and his dick, one of them is happy about this development. Zen looks down at his poor, neglected penis. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t just let him win. If you could tell the difference between Seven and a cute girl we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

Zen will worry about how to deal with Seven later. For now, this is nothing a cold shower and a bottle of vodka can’t solve. 

That is, until Zen is gets far enough into the bottle to start mistaking bad ideas for good ideas. He has a high tolerance and isn’t drunk enough to not realise what he’s doing at all, but he's just drunk enough to think that calling Seven is an excellent idea. 

“Mary Vanderwood speaking, how may I assist you?” Seven says in English with a thick British accent. 

“You can assist me by not assaulting me with nudes,” Zen says miserably, taking a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. 

“Zenny!” Seven exclaims upon hearing his voice, as if he had no idea that it was Zen calling in the first place. He laughs and returns to his normal way of speaking. “I don’t think they were nudes, but if you really want me to send you some of those, I guess I can make an exception just for you.”

“Seven—”

“Did you not like the pictures? Pictures of Mary Vanderwood are very much in demand, you know. They go for up to twenty boxes of Ho—”

“Luciel!” When Seven unexpectedly does fall silent, Zen has no idea what to say. “Stop...calling me Zenny.” 

“But Zenny! You let all the girls call you that.”

“That’s the difference,” Zen says glumly. “You’re not a girl.”

“Ah, but I’m still so cute, aren’t I?” Seven says cheerfully. Zen can hear a rustling of fabric that suggests that Seven is changing clothes. When Zen finds his body hopefully responding to the possibility of that alone, he concludes that something is seriously wrong with him. 

“Just...stop,” he says. He didn’t plan for it to come out as a whine. 

“You sound a bit flustered, are you okay?”

Zen presses the cigarette he’s been smoking into an ashtray so hard he nearly burns his fingers. “I would be fine if you just left me alone.”

“If it wasn’t affecting you in the first place you wouldn’t need me to leave you alone,” Seven chuckles. “I think you liked the pictures a lot.”

Zen’s hand drifts towards the bulge in his trousers. Even after the cold shower, his dick is still making fun of him by refusing to go completely soft. He doesn’t reply, afraid his voice will give away the lie. 

“Thought so. I’m all dressed up for you right now. Want to see?”

Zen means to say no, he really does. It’s just that, for some reason, his vocal cords aren’t cooperating and no sound actually leaves his mouth. 

“Thought so,” Seven says triumphantly, and pauses for a moment. Zen hears the vague sounds of a keyboard and the clicking of a mouse. “Go look at your computer.”

Since he’s already sitting at his desk, Zen only has to move his mouse back and forth to get rid of his screensaver. A picture appears on his screen almost immediately, and Zen is too busy trying to control the beast inside of him to worry about Seven hacking into his computer. 

It’s a very obvious selfie this time, taken from a high angle so that most of Seven’s body is in frame. He's naked apart from his underwear, and this time, he’s not flirting with the camera by winking or pouting. Instead, he’s looking up into the lens with a wide grin. Despite the wig, it makes him more recognisable than ever. 

Like this, there is no room for pretence. Seven knows exactly what he's doing—Zen can’t claim that his body is being tricked, now. 

He still wants him. 

“You alright, Zenny? Your breathing sounds a bit heavy,” Seven says into his ear, mock-concerned. “Do you like the picture? I put on these panties just for you.” 

It should be so easy to just hang up the phone—one tap on the screen and this would all be over. But Zen just sits there, frozen in place with a rapidly hardening cock and Seven’s voice in his ear getting filthier by the second. 

“Did it make you hard? I bet you wish I was between your legs right now, taking care of that.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zen is still aware that Seven is just going to extreme lengths to get a reaction out of him or prove a point or _something_ , but he’s slowly starting to accept that he can’t win. He finds himself imagining how satisfying it would be to shut Seven up by fucking his mouth, and pictures his pretty red lips around his dick and his taunting yellow eyes looking up at him as he swallows him down. 

Goddamnit. Even in Zen’s fantasies Seven is still mocking him. 

“This may come as a surprise, but I like to tease a bit sometimes,” Seven continues. “So I’d make you wait a little before you got what you wanted. I’d kiss and lick your cock and balls until you were begging for me to take you into my mouth and suck.” 

Zen isn’t exactly sure at what point he freed his erection from his trousers and started touching himself, but he can’t seem to stop, completely at the mercy of his body and Seven’s voice. 

“But I would take it all, eventually. I don’t think I’d let you come, though.” Seven pauses. “Because I want you to do that while you're fucking me. Do you want to feel my hole stretch around your cock?”

Zen lets out a pathetic moan as he imagines Seven clenching around his cock. He’s sure Seven must have heard it, as he continues to speak with even more confidence. 

“Would you want me to ride you? I’d love to take a little bit of control away from you and use your cock for my pleasure, just the way I like it. But if you asked nicely, I might let you take me from behind. Would you like that? To just lift up my skirt and shove my panties aside and fuck me hard? I’d make sure I was all ready and wet for you to slide in right away.”

“Fuck…” Zen breathes, his hand speeding up. As he closes his eyes he can practically see Seven bent over in front of him, his frilly skirt riding up as Zen thrusts into him. The mix of alcohol and arousal lowering his inhibitions, he finds words spilling off his lips without his permission. "Yes, I'd like that. Want to be inside you, feel how tight you are around my cock." 

“I...Shit. Zen?” Suddenly, Zen notices that Seven’s voice is far from steady now, the sound of his breathing starting to resemble Zen's own. “I’m imagining it, you know. I’m fucking myself on my fingers, wishing it was you instead.”

The sound that leaves Zen's mouth can only be described as a whimper. The head of his dick is slick with pre-come and he’s so close that he finds himself desperately wishing for one more string of filthy words from Seven’s mouth to push him over the edge. They never come. Instead, there is a short silence before there's a beep from the direction of Zen's computer. He opens his eyes to look at the new picture. 

Even though the angle is awkward and Zen can't exactly see where Seven's fingers enter his body, it's clear from the placement of his hand between his spread legs that he's fucking himself, just like he said. The moment Zen pictures his cock in their place, he thrusts into his hand once more and finally finds the release he’s been depriving himself of all this time. 

Once Zen slowly comes down from his climax, Seven is still silent on the other side of the line, apart from his somewhat heavy breathing that seems to be slowing down. Zen wonders if he came, too. 

All things considered, Zen should be a lot more frustrated at himself for letting himself be provoked so easily. Yet, he’s surprisingly calm; most of his anger seems to have disappeared along with his sexual frustration. Perhaps it’s because the last picture suggests that Seven wasn’t doing all this _just_ to mock him. 

“Zen?” Seven’s voice suddenly breaks the silence. “Come over to my place tomorrow.”

Zen hears himself agreeing before he even gives himself the chance to consider rejecting the invitation. He ends the call and glances at the picture on the computer screen for a moment, his face heating up as he tries to wrap his head around everything that just happened. A new picture and an accompanying message pop up on the screen just as Zen moves his hand to click out of the window. 

_Just a little teaser..._. Zen’s eyes roam over the red and black lingerie that’s spread out on Seven’s bed. His pulse quickens when he pictures it on Seven’s smooth skin. A second message appears. _With the maid dress, of course. We all know you have a thing for maids ;)))_

Zen sighs. It’s fine, he tells himself. Even if he’s a hopeless slave to Seven’s teasing and his tastes may not be as innocent as he’d like to believe, it’s still all Jumin’s fault.


	4. Examination [Seven/Yoosung]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoosung goes to see the doctor and gets more than he bargained for.  
>  **Content** : Medical kink, nurse!seven, cockslut!yoosung, embarrassment, toys, non-con*.  
> *Sort of. It's complicated. I'm mainly putting it here for those who get triggered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Celestral, who requested non-con. It's not _technically_ non-con and it features a bunch of other kinks that may or may not be your thing, so I completely understand if this isn't what you had in mind at all. If it isn't (and even if it is), I will write your other request too and hopefully that'll make up for it. 
> 
> If anyone feels like it, please humour me by filling out this poll and letting me know who I should pair Seven with next. Feel free to choose one or multiple options. All of these characters will be featured in this series (again) eventually, but I will write the two most popular choices first. I'm also just curious. [3/30: poll is closed, results are [here](http://i68.tinypic.com/2i9gfo4.jpg))

Yoosung fidgets with the hem of his blue hoodie. He tries to pull it down, stretching the fabric as much as possible until he feels at least a little bit covered. It must have been about five minutes since the friendly assistant told him to remove his jeans and underwear and wait in the chair. 

Goosebumps form on his bare skin when a rush of chilly air blows into the room. “Um…” Yoosung stares at the red-haired nurse as she enters the office and closes the door behind her. Yoosung pushes his hands between his dangling legs, trying to hide himself from view. “Is the doctor going to be here soon?”

“The doctor is busy today,” the nurse chuckles, surprising Yoosung with her low voice. Her heels click on the floor as she rolls a desk chair towards Yoosung and sits down in front of him. “I will be examining you today. Is that alright with you?” 

Yoosung swallows and nods. Being honest would mean having to explain why he’s uncomfortable, and having to admit that she’s too young and pretty would just be another way to make this situation even more mortifying. The reason he’s here is embarrassing enough as it is. 

“Well then.” She crosses her legs and puts the clipboard she’s been carrying down on her knee. “Why are you here today?”

Yoosung chews on his lip. “Do we have to talk like this?” He gestures between them, referring to the fact that he’s naked from the waist down and her eyes are exactly at crotch level. “Can I just put my underwear on for now and—”

“Nah, this will only take a minute. No need to be shy. I have been looking at old perverts all day. You’ve got nothing to worry about." She winks. “Now tell the nurse what’s been bothering you.” 

Yoosung looks down, refusing to believe that she’s actually blatantly flirting with him. That would be really unprofessional. Besides, someone like her would never flirt with the likes of Yoosung. She’s probably just trying to make him feel better. “I…” The words get stuck in his throat. “It’s kind of embarrassing.” 

The nurse glances down at her clipboard. “Well, it says here that you talked about a sexual performance issue when you made the appointment. Is that right?”

“No! Not performance. I mean, I…” Yoosung takes a deep breath. “Icanonlycomefrompenetration.” 

The nurse’s red lips slowly curl into a smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I can’t come unless I’m being…” Yoosung watches the nurse for a sign that she’s gotten the point, but she keeps looking at him expectantly. “...unless I’m being penetrated.”

“Oh. Oh my.” The nurse takes a pen out of her pocket and starts to scribble something down. “Have you always had this problem or did it develop recently?”

“Not always. I always preferred it, but I haven’t been able to orgasm differently since I…” Yoosung wipes his sweaty hands on his hoodie, grateful the nurse is focused on her clipboard. “Since I started having sex. With someone else.”

The nurse nods and continues to write. Now that Yoosung is getting a chance to observe her for more than a second, it starts to dawn on him that something is off. He noticed just how short her skirt is as soon as she came in, but it’s only now sinking in that she looks more like a nurse from a website Yoosung would visit in incognito mode than a medical professional. And that’s not the only odd thing about this situation. He supposes it’s possible for a woman to have a lower voice, but hers sounds eerily familiar. 

“Does it require a penis, or do toys or fingers suffice?” Yoosung startles out of his thoughts.

“Doesn’t matter, but...” His cheeks heat up. “It’s better when it’s bigger.”

“I see.” The sound of the pen scratching the paper fills the short silence. “Are you able to get erections?”

Yoosung nods. “Yeah, that all works normally.” He taps the pads of his fingers against each other and shifts in his chair. 

The nurse looks up and smiles. “Just one more question, okay cutie?”

The question that follows never reaches Yoosung’s ears, because suddenly everything clicks into place when the nurse calls him cutie in exactly the same way as…

“Seven!” The nurse blinks up at him. 

“Seven orgasms a day? Wow,” she says with a grin. “Are you sure you want that problem of yours fixed?”

“No! I mean...I don’t have seven orgasms a day. You. You are Seven!”

The nurse looks at him with a furrowed brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sweetie. If you’re experiencing confusion in addition to the problem you’re here about, perhaps we should send you to a hospital.”

Yoosung frantically tries to wrap his head around what’s going on. He’s so sure that it’s Seven that he can’t believe he didn’t notice it as soon as she—he walked into the office. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“I’m here to examine you.” Seven narrows his eyes at Yoosung over his glasses. Yoosung feels himself shrinking back into his chair. “And there are quite a few other patients waiting, so I suggest that we get on with it. Put your legs in the stirrups.”

Yoosung would recognise his own boyfriend, wouldn’t he? But the warmth in Seven’s voice is forced and professional, the kind that’s clearly just designed to put strangers at ease. There’s not a hint of familiarity. 

Yoosung’s fingertips dig into the soft leather of the chair as he lifts his legs into the stirrups. He never takes his eyes off Seven. “Is this really necessary? What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about it!” Not-Seven retrieves a pair of white gloves from a box on his desk and slowly pulls them over his hands and wrists, releasing each one with a snap. “I’m just going to check for irregularities. Just think of cats, and it’ll be over in a jiffy.”

“Cats?” 

Seven takes Yoosung’s penis in his hand and starts to methodically move up and down, squeezing it as he goes. “It’s been scientifically proven that thinking of fluffy kittens releases the same amount of endorphins as having an orgasm. Try it.” 

Yoosung’s pulse speeds up and his face starts to feel hot. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, willing himself be unaffected by the unceremonious movements and the feeling of cool latex against his skin. It doesn’t make any sense to get hard right now, and yet his cock is slowly starting to swell. 

“Hmm.” Seven moves on to Yoosung’s balls, rolling them around in his hand. “I don't feel anything abnormal.” 

Yoosung’s hands fly back to his crotch in a futile attempt to cover himself the moment Seven is done examining him. It only makes things worse, because while Seven was politely ignoring his erection before, he’s smiling now. “Don’t worry about it, cutie. Happens all the time. Especially when I’m the nurse on duty, for some reason.” 

Yoosung quickly averts his eyes. “So you don’t know what’s wrong with me?” 

“I’m afraid not. It’s a rather unique problem.” Seven considers Yoosung’s erection. “Have you tried manual stimulation? Oral? Penetrating your partner? Nothing works?” 

“Yes.” Yoosung glances at the door. “Can I get dressed now?”

“No. We’re not done here.” Seven’s expression twists into a catlike grin. “Maybe you’re just not using the right technique. There’s only one way to find out.”

A shiver runs down Yoosung’s spine. This isn’t Seven. Seven is a tease, but he loves Yoosung. He’s never looked at him with such an evil glint in his eyes. This has to be an imposter. Maybe Seven has a long-lost twin somewhere. All Yoosung knows is that something is terribly wrong, and the moment he tries to get up, he realises that his arms are stuck to the chair. 

“Wait!” Seven ignores him and pours a liberal amount of lube into his palm before wrapping his hand around Yoosung’s cock, the slippery latex sliding up and down his shaft. “It’s alright! I just needed to know that nothing was wrong. Please just let me…” He cuts himself off with a gasp when Seven’s thumb rubs the head of his cock. 

“You seem to get aroused easily,” Seven concludes. “So that’s not the problem.”

“I know that. There really isn’t any need for this.” Yoosung tries to lift his legs from the stirrups, but finds that he can't move at all now. It’s as if someone poured superglue on the chair right before he sat down. “What’s going on?” 

“Relax, cutie. I’m just trying to help you.” Seven continues to touch Yoosung, occasionally speeding up his movements or changing techniques altogether. He gets Yoosung to the very edge a couple of times, but never manages to push him over. 

Eventually, he sighs. “Well, I guess you were right.”

“Can I _please_ go, then?” Yoosung tries to sit up, but some invisible force seems to push him straight back into the chair. “There are more patients waiting for you, right?”

“And you want them to see you like this?” Seven pokes Yoosung’s throbbing erection. “It would be incredibly unprofessional of me to let you go like this.”

“It’s fine, really. Please…” Seven just clicks his tongue as he walks over to the desk and starts to rummage through a drawer. When he pulls out a thick, vaguely phallus-shaped object, Yoosung’s jaw drops. He’s still squirming in his chair, fighting the invisible restraints that are keeping him in place, but his cock twitches excitedly. 

Seven coats the object in a thick layer of lubricant. “Don’t be so shy.” He leans in and lets his lips brush against Yoosung’s ear. “Just let the nurse take care of you.”

Yoosung shakes his head and contemplates calling for help. The moment he opens his mouth, Seven presses the tip of the toy against his entrance and the scream comes out as a moan instead. Yoosung involuntarily tries to push back against the object as it slides into him. It fills him up so perfectly that he forgets to fight. 

“That really seems to do the trick, doesn’t it?” Seven says when a drop of pre-come drips onto Yoosung’s stomach. He catches it on the tip of his finger and rubs it onto Yoosung’s cock, using it as more lubrication as he starts to stroke him again, the rhythm matching that of the dildo moving in and out of Yoosung’s ass. 

“Please,” Yoosung whispers. “More. I—”

Seven lets out a dark chuckle. “I think I have a diagnosis. I don’t think it’s a medical problem. I think,” he says, punctuating his words with rough thrusts. “You’re just a textbook case of a cockslut.” 

The dildo presses against Yoosung's prostate so hard it almost hurts, and his ass clenches around the thick toy as waves of pleasure rip through his helpless body. Seven fucks him through his orgasm and doesn’t take pity on him until Yoosung is squirming to get his overstimulated body away from his hands. 

“That’s just my professional opinion, of course,” Seven says with a smirk as he slowly removes the toy from Yoosung’s ass. “But thankfully I have the perfect remedy for your condition. I'll prescribe it to you, but I’ll give you the first dose myself.” 

Yoosung has barely managed to catch his breath when Seven grabs an enormous syringe filled with a purple liquid and holds it up in front of him. His eyes widen. “No! Please, you don’t have to do that!” He twists his limbs with all the strength he can muster, but they won’t budge. 

“You want your problem fixed, don’t you? Now be a good boy for me and hold still.” Seven raises the syringe high above Yoosung’s leg, his eyes marking the spot where he’s going to jab it into—

Yoosung’s eyes fly open when a door slams shut. He looks around, disoriented, and realises that he must have fallen asleep on the couch while Seven was out shopping. He sits up, barely managing to cover the dark spot at the front of his jeans with a pillow before Seven enters the living room.

“Hello sleepyhead!” Seven holds up a bag with one finger and dangles it in front of Yoosung. “Do you want to see what I bought?” 

“Huh? Sure.” Yoosung rubs his eyes, still trying to shake the dream from his mind. He shudders when he remembers the needle, and for once he's grateful for the amount of noise Seven makes when he enters the house. 

Seven pulls a white dress with red accents out of the bag. “Tadaa! Would you like me to be your hot nurse tonight?” He bats his eyelashes. 

Yoosung jumps backwards on the couch. “Se...Seven?” He stares at the costume. “I think I’d rather just play teacher and student one more time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Yoosung. I do like to make him suffer. I feel like I should explain that I turned it into a dream because I like medical kink to be 'real', rather than roleplay. But a man in a nurse costume taking advantage of Yoosung in a legit doctor's office would just be too unrealistic, no matter how I went about it.


	5. Undercover [Seven/Yoosung]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven comes to class with Yoosung.  
>  **Content:** Public hand jobs, some D/s, mild orgasm control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support on this series! I really appreciate it. It's taken me this long to update because I was struggling with a huge writer's block. It's still not completely gone, so this might not be my best but I honestly tried. 
> 
> Yoosung and Saeran were the winners of the [poll](http://i68.tinypic.com/2i9gfo4.jpg), so Saeran will be next (which I'm pretty excited about). 
> 
> Lastly, I finally crawled out from under my rock and made a [tumblr](https://sidohfic.tumblr.com/) (nsfw), in case anyone feels like dropping by and saying hi. Maybe leave me some prompts for drabbles or something if you feel like it (it's fine if no one does but I figured I'd try because I really want to force myself out of this writer's block). And as always, let me know if you have a request for this series. 
> 
> ~~Also someone pointed out that Yoosung's classmates have the same names as two members from Winner. I don't listen to Kpop so that's a complete coincidence but feel free to picture them if they're cute.~~
> 
> Anyway, here's some more Yooseven.

Yoosung closes his door behind him with a yawn. He's probably supposed to regret staying up most of the night to play LOLOL, but instead he chooses to be proud of himself for managing to drag himself out of bed this early. What kind of college organises lectures at ten in the morning on Fridays, anyway? 

He glances at the white sports car that’s parked in front of the building, briefly wondering which one of his neighbours could afford a car like that. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes while he starts to walk, and doesn’t notice the redhead in the driver’s seat until one of the windows rolls down and a familiar voice calls his name. 

“Seven?” Yoosung leans on the door of the car and peers through the window. He blinks as he takes in Seven’s appearance, wondering if he’s still dreaming. “Why are you—” he starts, but he isn’t sure whether the most important question is why Seven is wearing women’s clothes or why he’s here in the first place. 

“Get in the car! I’ll explain while I take you to college.” 

Too tired and taken aback to protest, Yoosung does as he’s told. He’s barely buckled his seatbelt when Seven steps on the accelerator so hard that Yoosung is surprised his wig doesn’t end up hitting the rear window. 

“How do you even drive in those?” Yoosung wonders out loud, pointing at Seven’s heels. 

“Practice. Want to borrow them sometime?” 

“No, thanks,” Yoosung says. “So, why are you driving me to school?”

“I’m not just driving you, I’m coming with you!” Seven announces as if Yoosung has just won the lottery. 

“Wait, what?” 

“I couldn’t track down the hacker. It’s probably nothing serious, but everyone should be protected for a while just in case.” They reach a traffic light, and Seven pauses to check his teeth for lipstick marks in the rear-view mirror. “Jumin and Jaehee are both in a building with high security as it is, and Jumin arranged some bodyguards for Zen.”

“So why can’t I have bodyguards too?” Yoosung asks, mildly annoyed when he imagines how cool he would have looked with a bunch of muscular men in suits following him around. 

“Hey, don’t pout!” Yoosung just about manages to duck when Seven feels around for his head with his eyes still on the road, trying to ruffle his hair. “I thought it would be more fun! Don’t worry, I know three types of martial arts, and these heels are practically weapons, too. Besides, won’t you impress all of your friends if you show up to class with a girlfriend?”

That’s when it properly dawns on Yoosung that spending all day in the company of a tall, fire-engine-red-haired woman might make him stand out almost as much as an army of bodyguards would. “People will realise you’re not a girl as soon as you open your mouth.” 

“Exactly, which is why I’m not going to say anything. Don’t worry cutie, it’ll be fine.” Seven reaches out to pinch Yoosung’s cheek. “Now be a good boy for me and let me protect you.”

Yoosung sinks down further into his seat, his pulse speeding up. It’s not fair at all for Seven to be using language he knows will make Yoosung weak in his knees. “Okay.” 

And maybe Seven is right, Yoosung decides when he tries to look at him objectively. He’s wearing a green, long-sleeved dress that looks extremely conservative compared to the costumes that most of his female wardrobe consists of. Maybe he won’t stand out that much after all. 

Yoosung realises he was wrong as soon as they enter the building. Several students stop on their tracks to stare at them, only to pull themselves together a moment later and keep walking so as to not be rude. It’s not that Yoosung is ashamed of Seven, but it doesn’t occur to him to assume that they’re looking at Seven for anything other than negative reasons until he spots a boy sneakily trying to look over his shoulder with flushed cheeks, his eyes glued to Seven’s long legs. Yoosung’s chest swells with pride, and when Seven grabs his hand and smiles smugly at him, it’s all Yoosung can do to keep a stupid grin from forming on his face. 

Two guys Yoosung knows from his seminars take a seat behind them in the lecture room. “Yoosung!” Jinwoo opens his mouth to say something else, but immediately closes it again when he spots Seven. 

Yoosung finally catches on to their expectant looks when Seven sharply pokes him in the ribs. “Ow! I mean, sorry. This is…Mary.” Seven quietly sniggers next to him before smiling and waving at Yoosung's acquaintances. “She’s uh…She’s half British! She doesn’t speak Korean.”

“Huh…” Taehyun narrows his eyes, looking somewhat sceptical, but Jinwoo seems impressed. 

“Wow! That’s awesome. Well do—” He cuts himself off, suddenly glancing unsurely at Seven, who just smirks and turns around. Jinwoo flashes Yoosung a grin and a double thumbs up before another friend joins them and the three of them get wrapped up in their own conversation.

“I hope you’ve been practising your English,” Seven whispers. He covers his mouth with his hand, his eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter when Yoosung pales. “Good lie though. Who have you been hanging out with?” Yoosung is about to point out that Seven is probably the culprit, but he’s interrupted by his professor clearing his throat and starting his lecture. 

Concentrating on listening to the middle-aged man drone on is even more of a challenge than usual. Yoosung is hyper-aware of the fact that Seven’s skirt has ridden up to the point where most of the thigh that’s pressed against Yoosung’s leg is naked. In an attempt to distract himself and keep his body from responding in an inappropriate way, Yoosung sneaks a quick glance at what Seven is busy writing down under the pretence of taking notes. He raises his eyebrows when it appears to be a comic about a cat and a sneezing figure that looks suspiciously like Zen, and goes back to trying to focus on the lecture. 

He doesn’t think much of it when he first registers the weight of Seven’s hand on top of his thigh under the small foldable desk. He’s probably naive to assume that Seven is just showing affection without any hidden motives, but the touch seems relatively innocent, so Yoosung ignores it, keeping his eyes on his notes. 

Seven starts drawing gentle circles on Yoosung’s thigh with his fake nails. The movements are almost hypnotic and lull Yoosung into a hazy state between relaxation and arousal. Gradually, the little bit of focus Yoosung has been holding onto starts to slip away and his eyelids start to feel heavy. He doesn’t notice that Seven’s hand is slowly creeping up higher and higher, until…

Yoosung’s knees hit his desk with an echoing _bang_. At least a hundred students turn around to see what’s going on, and Yoosung's face heats up as Seven squeezes the growing bulge in his jeans. “Sorry!” He squeaks, his voice about an octave higher than it was before he hit puberty. His professor raises his bushy eyebrows and eyes him disapprovingly. “I’m fine!” 

Yoosung glares at Seven once the lecture resumes. Despite what just happened, he finds himself growing completely hard under the pressure of Seven’s hand. He’s sure that Seven would stop if he had reason to believe that Yoosung really wanted him to, but Seven knows him too well to think that Yoosung is anything other than a masochist who’s enjoying every moment of this. But while Yoosung doesn’t expect Seven to stop kneading his cock through his jeans, he gasps in surprise when he feels him skilfully undoing his zipper with one hand.

He watches Seven in disbelief as he pulls out Yoosung's cock, the desk thankfully blocking the view of the people behind them. If Yoosung wasn’t the victim in this situation, he might be impressed by how Seven continues to pretend that he’s taking notes with his other hand. Yoosung has to work a lot harder to hide what's going on as Seven's hand slowly moves up and down. He grips his desk with both hands to fight the sounds that are trying to escape from his throat. 

It’s not fair. Seven knows perfectly well how loud Yoosung gets when he teases him. At first it seems like Seven is going to ignore his panicked looks, but then he looks up from his notebook and mouths ‘want me stop?’ His hand suddenly pauses just below the head of Yoosung’s dick. Yoosung’s hips immediately betray him by thrusting up on their own accord. Seven smiles and mouths ‘thought so’. 

Yoosung tells himself that he couldn’t make Seven stop now even if he wanted him to. His erection is never going to go down by itself if he’s going to have to spend the remainder of the lecture sitting next to Seven looking like that, the memory of his hand on his cock fresh in his mind. Breathing through parted lips, concern about what he looks like fades away with each stroke and squeeze of Seven’s hand. Seven presses the pad of his thumb into his slit, using Yoosung's pre-come to slide up and down his shaft more smoothly. If they were alone right now, Seven would probably be teasing him about how much he leaks when he gets excited. Unguarded for a moment, a whimper escapes from Yoosung’s mouth. 

“You okay man?” Jinwoo’s concerned voice sounds behind him. Yoosung takes a deep, shaky breath. 

“Yeah, I’m…” He swallows, forcing his voice to be steady when Seven’s hand conveniently speeds up. “I just don’t feel that well. Too much...chocolate milk.” 

Thankfully, that answer seems to satisfy Jinwoo, and he takes his eyes off Yoosung just in time to miss the look Yoosung sends Seven’s way to warn him that he’s close. Seven nods in response, and then it takes all of Yoosung’s strength to keep himself from lifting his hips off the chair and fucking Seven’s hand. His teeth dig into his bottom lip so hard that Yoosung is surprised he can’t taste blood, and the pain mixes with pleasure as Seven’s hand guides him through a climax that has Yoosung's thighs shaking with the effort of holding still. After milking every last drop of come from Yoosung’s cock, Seven casually retrieves a tissue from his purse and wipes his hand clean under the table while Yoosung tucks himself away and zips up his jeans. 

“What a good boy,” Seven says, squeezing Yoosung’s hand as they make their way towards Yoosung’s next class. “You even remembered to ask permission to come.”

“I missed half the lecture.”

“Really? I thought it was very stimulating material.”

“How was I supposed to pay attention like that?” Yoosung whines. “I thought you wanted me to pass my exams.”

“You just need to practise concentration! You’re so lucky you have me to help you out with that.” Seven pauses to show Yoosung the contents of his purse. “We’ll start right now.”

Yoosung just about catches a glimpse of a butt plug before he is pulled into the nearest bathroom.


	6. Free [Seven/Saeran]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS for the entire game/secret endings below. 
> 
> In an AU in which Saeyoung never met Rika or learned how to hack, they have to come up with other ways to make money.  
>  **Content:** Sibling incest, prostitution, referenced abuse/violence, referenced self harm, voyeurism, cross-dressing (both of them), brief Seven/OC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a lot less light-hearted and smutty. It's kind of weird and somewhat implausible but mostly just angsty. I can't seem to write these two without making it depressing. Sorry about that. No tag for underage because their age isn't specified.
> 
> I'll probably write MC or Vanderwood after this, although I have an idea for Jumin too. Feel free to leave requests.

Saeran pulls his stocking into place for what must be the fifth time since they left the public bathroom they changed in. He catches his reflection in the window of their client’s house and sighs. His legs look like toothpicks sticking out from the bottom of his maid’s uniform. “I look ridiculous,” he says, rubbing his itchy eyes. It only makes it worse. 

“Stop rubbing your eyes. You’re smudging your makeup.” Saeyoung licks his thumb and cleans up underneath Saeran’s eyes. “You look fine.”

Saeran shrugs. It’s easy for Saeyoung to say—he’s got smooth, nicely shaped legs and at least he knows how to walk in heels. “I can’t believe you do this for fun. I hate it.” 

“I know.” Saeyoung brushes a strand of hair out of eyes and straightens his wig. “You have to use it like a shield. People can’t really see you, so they can’t get to you.”

“Is that why you do it?”

Saeyoung hesitates for a moment. “No,” he says. “It’s complicated. Listen, you don’t have to do this. You can go home and I’ll do the job by myself.”

Saeran shakes his head. “You’re always working and taking care of me. I want to help.”

“If you’re sure.” Saeyoung smiles like he always does whenever he wants to convince Saeran that everything’s going to be okay. “Only a few months of this and we’ll be able to move out.”

“Yeah.” The idea of being able to escape their mother’s house and build a life somewhere else still seems too surreal and out of reach to be of any real comfort right now, but Saeran knows that if he said that out loud, Saeyoung would just remind him that he can’t think like that. “We should go in. We’re going to be late.”

Saeyoung nods and rings the doorbell. 

***

“Real twins, eh?” The middle-aged man says. Saeran can feel his eyes following him from the couch as he scrubs the floor. The wood feels too hard against his bony, already bruised knees, but he supposes it beats having to stand in the too-small shoes. He wishes the man wouldn’t watch them like this, but he knows that this isn’t actually about cleaning. The man could have paid someone else a lot less if it was. “I expected that part to be a scam, but it’s actually true. Identical twins?”

“Yes sir,” Saeyoung says cheerfully as he dusts off a bookshelf. He’s a great actor. He’d probably be able to fool anyone but Saeran. 

“How come one of you is so skinny, though? Scrawny one, get over here.” Saeyoung freezes in place, and Saeran exchanges a glance with him before scrambling to his feet. He can tell that Saeyoung is watching them intently, the cloth forgotten in his hand. 

The man’s eyes scan Saeran’s body as he stands in front of him, his hands behind his back because he isn’t sure what else to do with them. Suddenly a calloused hand is touching the exposed skin of his leg. “I see you like to test out your cutlery.” Saeran jerks backwards when the man’s fingers trace the white scars on his thigh. 

“That’s enough,” Saeyoung says sharply and forces himself between Saeran and the man. “Touching isn’t part of the deal.”

“Oh come on,” the man laughs. “I’m paying you more than enough. I wasn’t touching his ass or anything.”

Saeyoung drops the cloth on the table. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Saeran grabs Saeyoung by his wrist. He can’t be the reason they have to keep living with their mother. He already feels like dead weight for Saeyoung to constantly drag around. “I’m fine.”

“You kids really are desperate for money, aren’t you?” The man observes them with beady eyes. “I’m always willing to help those in need. I’m sure I could pay you a little extra, if you did a _very_ good job.”

Saeyoung glances at the man, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Fine,” he says in the end. “Get started on the kitchen, Saeran. I’ll finish up in here.”

Saeran nods and does as he's told. He can’t get rid of the nagging feeling in his gut telling him that he shouldn’t be leaving Saeyoung alone with that man, but he reminds himself that Saeyoung has been doing this work by himself for months. He can take care of himself. 

He slips on a pair of rubber gloves so that he can get started on the dishes. He reaches out to turn on the tap, but quickly realises that the bottle of detergent next to the sink is empty. He pulls open several cupboards, but there isn’t a new bottle to be found anywhere. “Sir?” He calls out, returning to the living room. “Is there any more—” He stops on his tracks and clings to the doorframe, feeling like someone punched him in the gut and knocked all the air out of his lungs. 

Saeyoung pulls his head out of the man’s lap. For a moment Saeran allows himself to hope, against better judgement, that it isn’t what it looks like. Then the man’s erection is exposed, slick and shiny with Saeyoung’s saliva. Saeran covers his mouth as his stomach turns. “Saeyoung?”

“It’s alright.” Saeyoung says, his voice raw. He wipes his mouth and won’t meet Saeran’s eyes. “We're getting paid extra.”

Saeran's breathing is so shallow and rapid that he's starting to feel lightheaded. He can’t shake the image of Saeyoung’s head bobbing up and down. He seemed to move with such practiced ease that Saeran can’t help but wonder if this is what he’s been doing all those months, before coming home to take care of Saeran without even once mentioning it.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Saeyoung says, rubbing his hands up and down Saeran’s arms. Saeran turns his head away. He’s scared to smell his breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“You boys seem to be very close,” the man remarks. Saeran sniffs and wipes his cheek. He opens his mouth but Saeyoung shakes his head. Saeran doesn’t often speak up to strangers, but when he gets truly angry his mouth tends to get him into trouble. “I’ll tell you what. There’s something you can do to make three times the amount we agreed on, and neither of you will have to touch me.”

Saeran meets Saeyoung’s eyes. They both know that it’s too much money to pass up. “What do you want us to do?” Saeyoung asks. His eyes are watery, and another wave of nausea hits Saeran when he realises that it’s not because he’s been crying. 

“You two put on a little show for me,” the man says, palming his cock. Apparently Saeran’s tears did nothing to diminish his arousal. “Together.”

“No,” Saeyoung immediately says, at the same time as Saeran surprises them both by asking, “How far would we have to go?”

Saeyoung’s eyes widen. “Saeran?”

“It’s a lot of money,” Saeran whispers. “We need it.”

“No.” Saeyoung shakes his head. “I’m not getting you involved in this kind of stuff.”

“Would you rather do this with random strangers than with me? Am I that disgusting to you?”

Saeyoung opens his mouth and closes it again. Saeran already regrets asking the question. He knows it isn’t fair to Saeyoung—he’s just trying to protect him. Besides, Saeran should know better than to ask questions he doesn’t want to know the answer to.

When Saeyoung turns around with a deep, shaky breath, Saeran is sure he’s going to drag him home. Instead, he addresses the man. “No oral or anal. Money up front.”

The man considers the deal for a moment before grabbing his wallet and counting out a larger pile of cash than Saeran has ever seen in his life. He hands the money to Saeyoung, who tucks it into the lace band at the top of his stocking. 

Saeyoung’s hand comes to rest on Saeran’s cheek. _Are you sure?_ he communicates with a single look. Saeran gives a small nod. He isn’t sure who closes the distance between them first, but before there’s time for doubt or regret, their lips are pressed together. 

Neither of them opens their mouth at first. It’s slow and soft, and apart from the sticky feeling of their lipstick rubbing together, it’s what Saeran always expected his first kiss to be like. He tries not to think about whether this is Saeyoung’s first kiss too. He closes his eyes and almost manages to forget about their audience until the man speaks up. “Come on, I want to see a real kiss. More tongue.”

Saeyoung intertwines his fingers with Saeran’s. “Sorry,” he says quietly, and it isn’t until his tongue slides between Saeran’s parted lips that Saeran realises why he’s apologising. The taste of the man’s pre-come still lingers in Saeyoung’s mouth, and it’s all Saeran can do not to gag. 

Saeyoung pulls away. His lipstick is smudged, and Saeran imagines his must look the same. He presses his lips to Saeran’s neck instead, kissing him where the taste of the other man on him won’t matter. He lightly sucks on his skin, and Saeran slowly finds his body relaxing as much as possible under the circumstances. He gives in to Saeyoung and trusts him, the same way he does when Saeyoung stitches up a particularly deep cut, or when he carefully holds him after a violent beating. 

Saeyoung's hand slips underneath Saeran's skirt and comes to rest on his panties. Saeran isn’t hard, and the wet sound of the man jerking off isn’t helping. “Just pretend we’re alone, okay?” Saeyoung whispers into his ear. His fingers close around Saeran’s cock. Saeran imagines they’re in their bedroom, and pretends that Saeyoung isn't doing this because he's being told to, but because he wants to. 

The man’s voice cuts harshly through the illusion. “I want to see.” 

Saeyoung clenches his jaw, but his face softens when he looks at Saeran. “Hold up your skirt.” 

Saeran bunches up his skirt at his waist while Saeyoung pulls his panties down further. It’s been a long time since he allowed Saeyoung to see this much of him. He hates making him worry more than he already does, so these days he mostly hurts himself in places that are easy to hide, even from his brother. 

Saeyoung’s breath catches when he notices the angry red marks on Saeran’s stomach and the top of his thighs. He quickly recovers, pressing his body against Saeran’s, hiding most of him from view. His lips brush Saeran’s jaw as the head of his now exposed cock rubs against Saeran’s shaft. He spits into his palm and wraps his hand around both of them, stroking them together. He’s already hard. With a lurch in his stomach, Saeran wonders how much practice it takes to get there so quickly under these circumstances. 

Somehow, Saeyoung’s firm strokes eventually manage to get them off. For one blissful second after their come mingles in Saeyoung’s hand, Saeran’s mind is clouded by the orgasmic high that lets him forget where they are. Then, the man grunts as he climaxes. “Wow, you boys didn’t seem to mind that,” he pants. “Do you fuck each other when you're alone, too?”

They open their eyes. Neither of them responds. 

“I’m not taking you with me again,” Saeyoung says when they step into the sunlight. 

Saeran just shrugs. It’s not worth having this argument now, when he knows they’ll start over again when it’s time to leave for the next job. “Saeyoung?” 

“Yeah?” Saeyoung turns to look at him. There are faint pink and grey smears on his face from where he tried to rub off his smudged makeup. 

“Do you think something’s wrong with me?” Even though the man was wrong, his words keep playing in Saeran’s head.

“What do you mean?”

“What if…” Saeran’s hands are shaking when Saeyoung clasps them between his own. “What if the only thing that bothered me about you kissing and touching me in there was that we weren’t alone? That’s messed up, right?” 

Saeyoung sighs and looks up, squinting against the bright sunlight. Saeran follows his gaze. There’s nothing to see, except for a tiny cloud passing by. “I like to think that God would cut us some slack,” he says. He sounds more like he’s talking to himself than to Saeran. “Besides, we’ll be free soon. No one will be able to hurt us.”

Saeran imagines their first night in their home. It’ll be cheap and tiny, but it will be their own. He’ll be able to fall asleep in Saeyoung’s arms without having to worry about their mother storming into their room in the middle of the night. It occurs to him that whenever he thinks about the future, he never imagines himself living alone or with a hypothetical boyfriend or a girlfriend. Saeyoung is always there. 

“Come on,” Saeyoung says. He puts on a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We'll get changed, and if we still have time left before mother comes home, we’ll go for ice cream.”

Saeran nearly points out that he’s not a child anymore, but it’s not worth the disappointed look in Saeyoung’s eyes when he’s reminded that it takes a lot more than ice cream to make Saeran forget these days. Things aren’t that simple anymore. 

They never really were. 

“Alright,” Saeran says. He squeezes Saeyoung’s hand and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://sidohfic.tumblr.com/) (nsfw)


End file.
